My grandfather's name is Li Qingshan.
Grandpa said that the thing he regretted most in his life was not stepping on the mountains of corpses and seas of blood on the battlefield, but taking over the job of building the locust coffin in Zhangjiacun on that rainy night in 1952.
My grandfather was thirty-seven years old that year. He was a veteran who had climbed out from the dead in the War of Resistance and was as courageous as an ox. In the countryside, coffin bearers have an elegant name - "Eight Immortals". Grandpa is the leading "eye of the palm", and he has to be invited to any family within a hundred miles that has died. He was used to seeing evil things like corpse fraud, corpse transformation, and blood dripping from coffins, and he had never been afraid of it.
But that coffin made him kneel down for the first time...
